Beneath the tree the baby lay
The sky was black and the pram was grey
Its chestnut eyes roll round in fright
But what hung up there on the right

Ah no no, this ain't me
Hangin' on the asking tree

I don't know much but I sure can tell
Your porky soul is gonna fry in hell
And the grease will spit
And the fat will roll
Like a hamburger
That's all your soul
Is worth: Processed beef clippings
Tear the skin right off of me
And hang it on the asking tree